LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


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THE 
HOUSE    OF    FALLING    LEAVES 

In  Memonam  Frederic  Lawrence  Knowles 
obiit  Sept.  19,  1905 


Books  by  Mr.  Braithwaite 
The  House  of  Falling  Leaves 
Lyrics  of  Life  and  Love 
The  Book  of  Elizabethan  Verse 
The  Book  of  Georgian  Verse 

In  Press  for  1908 

William   Dean   Howells :     A    Study  and 
Appreciation 


THE      HOUSE     OF 
FALLING    LEAVES 

With  Other  Poems 

By   WILLIAM   STANLEY    BRAITHWAITE 

Author  of  "  Lyrics  of  Life  and  Love  " 


BOSTON 
JOHN   W.    LUCE   AND   COMPANY 

1908 


Copyright,  1908,  by 
WILLIAM  STANLEY  BRAITHWAITE 

Published,  May,  1908 


Colonial  ftress 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


>  3 


To  the  Memory  of 

FREDERIC   LAWRENCE    KNOWLES 


Wot 

MAI 


courteous  permsson  to  reprnt  certan 
poems  in  this  collection,  acknowledgment  is 
due  which  I  hereby  gratefully  render,  to  the 
Editors  of  the  following  magazines :  The  Century, 
Book  News  Monthly,  The  Christian  Endeavor 
World,  The  Voice,  The  New  England  Magazine, 
The  American  Magazine,  and  The  New  York 
Times  Saturday  Review  of  Books. 


.1  92621 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  HOUSE  OF  FALLING  LEAVES  .       /      .       .  13 
MY  THOUGHTS  Go  MARCHING  LIKE  AN  ARMED 

HOST . .     •'.  i? 

MATER  TRIUMPHALIS         .       .       .      •..'".       .  18 

MESSENGERS  OF  DREAMS  .       ...       *       .  21 

A  WHITE  ROAD  .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .  22 

To  ARTHUR  UPSON    .       .       ...       .       .  23 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH   .  25 

GOLDEN  MOONRISE     .       .       .       .       .       • ,      •  27 

MADAME  OF  DREAMS         .       .,      .       .       .       .  28 

To  FIONA     .":"-".       .       .       .       .       .       -       -  30 

To  FIONA     .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .   .    ,  31 

OFF  THE  NEW  ENGLAND  COAST     .       .       .       .  33 

OCTOBER  XXIX,  1795       .       .       .       .       .       *  40 

SONG  OF  A  SYRIAN  LACE  SELLER   .       .       .       .  41 

NYMPHOLEPSY      .       .       ,       .       .       .       .       .  43 

To  DANTE  GABRIEL  ROSSETTI        .       .       .       .  45 

APRILIAN  RHAPSODY  .       .       .       ....  47 

A  SONG  OF  LIVING     .       .       ...       .       .48 

[ix] 


AVE  AND  VALE *  .  51 

Hoc  ERAT  IN  VOTIS 52 

IN  THE  PUBLIC  GARDEN  .       „       .       *       *  .  54 

RAIN  IN  SUMMER 55 

THE  ETERNAL  SELF   .       .       .       .       .       .  .  56 

THE  HOUSE  OF  DEATH     .       .       .       .       »  .  58 

AT  NEWPORT       .       .       ...       .       .  .  59 

Sic  VITA       .       ...       .       ...  .  61 

A  SONG  OF  THE  SIXTH  MONTH      .       .       .  .  62 

FROM  THE  CROWD      ..      ,       .       .       .       .  .  63 

LOVE  LEADS  HOME    ....       .       .  .  64 

THE  FULL  HOPE         .       .       ....  .  65 

A  LITTLE  WHILE  BEFORE  FAREWELL    ...  66 

To  BEAUTY  .       .       .       .       .       t       .       .  .  68 

SONG  :   To  -  DAY  AND  To  -  MORROW       .       .  ,  .  70 

LATE  AUGUST      ....       .       /      .  .  72 

MALAGUENA         ...       .       .  <     /      .  .  73 

SONG:   As  A  NEW-MADE  BRIDE    ...  .  75 

UNDER  THE  STARS      .       .       .       .       .       .  .  76 

TEARS    .       .       .       .......  .  78 

SONG      .              .       .       .       .       .       .  .  79 

A  VISIT  TO  OAK  LODGE   ......  80 

SONG:   THE  TRAIL  OF  STARS  ...       .  •  .  81 

THOMAS  WENTWORTH  HIGGINSON  .       .       .  .  82 

WILLIAM  DEAN  HOWELLS         .       .       .       .  .  83 

THE  SHEPHERD  OF  THE  FLOCK  OF  DREAMS  .  85 

THE  FIRST  BORN  86 

W 


LA  BELLE  DE  DEMERARA 87 

THE  ANNUNCIATION  OF  THE  VIRGIN     »".     -.       *  89 

GOLDEN  HAIR      .       .     ,  .       ;  '.    .       .       .       .  90 

GRAY  DAWN        .       .       .       .       .       .       .  .     .  91 

IN  THE  ATHENAEUM  .       .       .       .       .       .       .  92 

As  SILENT  THROUGH  THE  WORLD  SHE  GOES      .  94 

ENIGMAS        ,       .       .       .       .       .       ....  95 

SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH       .       .       ...       .  96 

ON  BLAKE'S  "  SONGS  OF  INNOCENCE  "  .       .       .  97 

THE  BOOK  OF  LOVE  .       .       .       ...       .  98 

To  LAURENCE  HOPE  .       .       .       .       .       .       .  99 

THIS  is  MY  LIFE       •.       .       .       .       .       ,       .  IQI 

KINGDOMS  AND  HEIRS ,.102 

To  ROY  ROLFE  GILSON    .       .    .    j       .       .       .  103 

WHITE  MAGIC:    AN  ODE.       .       .       .       .       .  104 

ON  REVISITING  NEWPORT  BEACH                         .  108 

OFF  SHORE  .       .       .       .       .       .       ...  109 

L 'ENVOI  in 


[xi] 


THE   HOUSE   OF  FALLING    LEAVES 

I 

OFF  our  New  England  coast  the  sea  to-night 
Is  moaning  the  full  sorrow  of  its  heart : 
There  is  no  will  to  comfort  it  apart 
Since  moon  and  stars  are  hidden  from  its  sight. 
And  out  beyond  the  furthest  harbor-light 
There  runs  a  tide  that  marks  not  any  chart 
Wherewith  man  knows  the  ending  and  the  start 
Of  that  long  voyage  in  the  infinite. 

If  change  and  fate  and  hapless  circumstance 
May  baffle  and  perplex  the  moaning  sea, 
And  day  and  night  in  alternate  advance 
Still  hold  the  primal  Reasoning  in  fee, 
Cannot  my  Grief  be  strong  enough  to  chance 
My  voice  across  the  tide  I  cannot  see  ? 


[13] 


II 

We  go  from  house  to  house,  from  town  to  town, 
And   fill  the   distance   full  of  smiles   and  words; 
We  take  all  pleasure  that  our  strength  affords 
And  care  not  if  the  sun  be  up  or  down. 
The  way  of  it  no  man  has  ever  known  — 
But  suddenly  there  is  a  snap  of  chords 
Within  the  heart  that  sounds  like  hollow  boards,  — 
We  question  every  shadow  that  is  thrown. 

O  to  be  near  when  the  last  word  is  said! 

And  see  the  last  reflection  in  the  eye  — 

For  when  the  word  is  brought  our  friend  is  dead, 

How  bitter  is  the  tear  that  will  not  dry, 

Because  so  far  away  our  steps  are  led 

When  Love  should  draw  us  close  to  say  Good-bye ! 


[14] 


Ill 

Four  seasons  are  there  to  the  circling  year: 
Four  houses  where  the  dreams  of  men  abide  — 
The  stark  and  naked  Winter  without  pride, 
The  Spring  like  a  young  maiden  soft  and  fair; 
The  Summer  like  a  bride  about  to  bear 
The  issue  of  the  love  she  deified; 
And  lastly,  Autumn,  on  the  turning  tide 
That  ebbs  the  voice  of  nature  to  its  bier. 

Four  houses  with  two  spacious  chambers  each, 
Named  Birth  and  Death,  wherein  Time  joys  and 

grieves. 

Is  there  no  Fate  so  wise  enough  to  teach 
Into  which  door  Life  enters  and  retrieves  ? 
What  matter  since  his  voice  is  out  of  reach, 
And  Sorrow  fills  My  House  of  Falling  Leaves! 


[15] 


IV 

The  House  of  Falling  Leaves  we  entered  in  — 
He  and  I  —  we  entered  in  and  found  it  fair; 
At  midnight  some  one  called  him  up  the  stair, 
And  closed  him  in  the  Room  I  could  not  win. 
Now  must  I  go  alone  out  in  the  din 
Of  hurrying  days :  for  forth  he  cannot  fare ; 
I  must  go  on  with  Time,  and  leave  him  there 
In  Autumn's  house  where  dreams  will  soon  grow 
thin. 

When  Time  shall  close  the  door  unto  the  house 

And  opens  that  of  Winter's  soon  to  be, 

And    dreams    go    moving    through    the    ruined 

boughs  — 

He  who  went  in  comes  out  a  Memory. 
From  his  deep  sleep  no  sound  may  e'er  arouse,  — 
The  moaning  rain,  nor  wind-embattled  sea. 


[16 


MY  THOUGHTS   GO   MARCHING 
LIKE   AN  ARMED   HOST 

MY  thoughts  go  marching  like  an  arm&d  host 
Out  of  the  city  of  silence,  guns  and  cars ; 
Troop  after  troop  across  my  dreams  they  post 

To  the  invasion  of  the  winds  and  stars. 
O  brave  array  of  youth's  untamed  desire ! 

With  thy  bold,  dauntless  captain  Hope  to  lead 
His  raw  recruits  to  Fate's  opposing  fire, 

And  up  the  walls  of  Circumstance  to  bleed. 
How  fares  the  expedition  in  the  end  ? 

When  this,  my  heart,  shall  have  old  age  for  king 
And  to  the  wars  no  further  troop  can  send, 

What  final  message  will  the  arm'stice  bring  ? 
The  host  gone  forth  in  youth  the  world  to  meet, 
In  age  returns  —  in  victory  or  defeat  ? 


[17] 


F 


MATER  TRIUMPHALIS 

To  Louise  Imogen  Guiney 

ORESEEN  in  Eve's  desire, 

Foreborne  in  Adam's  bliss, 
The  whim  of  a  dream  on  fire 

Has  brought  the  world  to  this: 
Foregone  was  the  break  of  order, 

Ere  the  Will  was  disobeyed 

And  the  Angel  at  Eden's  border 

Stood  with  a  flaming  blade. 

This  was  at  the  beginning  — 

What  shall  it  be  at  the  end! 
For  the  first  child  borne  in  sinning 

Will  God  or  Nature  befriend  ? 
Eve's  desire  is  yet  burning 

Fair  women  in  country  and  town, 
And  Adam's  bliss  is  turning 

Empires  and  kingdoms  down. 


[18] 


Is  this  the  worth  of  a  story, 

Is  this  the  dream  of  a  song  — 
A  fabled  blare  of  glory, 

This  battle  of  right  and  wrong? 
O  sweet,  fair  body  of  woman, 

O  strong,  brave  will  of  man  — 
Co-equal  in  the  human, 

Unequal  in  the  plan! 

The  deeds  of  warriors  vanish, 

The  words  of  martyrs  die, 
But  never  the  heart  can  banish 

The  drift  of  Helen's  sigh. 
Jerusalem  is  forsaken, 

Gomorrah  is  a  lure  — 
Eve,  once  from  her  sleep  awaken, 

And  Adam's  kiss  is  sure. 


[19] 


But  God  is  yet  the  Master, 

The  dramatist  of  the  play; 
If  He  wove  an  act  of  disaster, 

He  wove  an  act  to  allay. 
Deep  in  the  dream's  forebeing 

The  Artist  was  greater  than  life 
Who  smiled  at  His  own  foreseeing 

The  Virgin  mother  and  wife. 


[20] 


MESSENGERS  OF  DREAMS 

MY  heart  can  tell  them,  every  one, 
The  messengers  of  dreams  that  run 
Above  the  tree-tops  in  the  sun. 

Whether  of  great  or  little  worth 
They  carry  the  heart's  desires  forth 
East  and  west  and  south  and  north. 

I  know  the  night  will  close  them  in  — 
And  they  will  meet  the  tempest's  din  — 
Ere  they  come  to  that  far-off  inn. 

The  inn  that  stands  on  the  bourne  of  hope, 
Where  Fear  and  Delight  together  cope 
For  victory  on  a  little  slope. 

My  heart  can  tell  them,  every  one, 
The  returning  messengers  that  run 
Above  the  tree-tops  in  the  sun. 


[21] 


A  WHITE  ROAD 

A  WHITE  road  between  sea  and  land, 
Night  and   silence  on   either  hand  — 
Pointing  to  some  unknown  gate 
A  white  forefinger  of  fate. 

I  follow,  I  follow— I'll  wend 
My  way  on  this  road  to  the  end; 
Silence  may  keep  to  the  sea, 
On  land  no  light  shines  free. 

Bend  low  impenetrable  sky  — 
Through  your  shades  my  road  runs  high: 
It  needs  no  stars  to  guide  — 
No  measuring  sea-tide. 

I  breathe  the  imperishable  breath, 
I  trespass  the  bounds  of  death  - 
For  my  heart  knows  all  the  way 
To  the  eternal  day. 


[22] 


TO  ARTHUR  UPSON 

HOW  placidly  this  silent  river  rolls 
Under  the  midnight  stars  before  our  feet, 
While  we  chaunt  music  of  dead  poets*  souls 

The  treasury  of  Time  has  made  so  sweet. 
This  is  my  Charles,  O  Friend !   the  loving  nurse 
Of  a  boy's  heart  who  dreamed  life  would  be  worse 

Than  death,  if  he  gave  not  in  future  years 

Some  few  more  songs  to  those  this  river  bears. 
Ah,  here  WTC  sit,  the  boy's  heart  grown  to  man's  — 

Westward  from  Cambridge,  hid  among  the  hills, 
Breaks    forth    its    source    no    wider    than    your 
hands; — 

How  like  our  own  experience  it  fills 
Here  at  this  point  its  widening  banks,  as  we 
Grow  out  to  fill  our  duties,  to  the  sea! 


[23] 


Here  all  the  night  is  on  us  with  its  stars; 

The  pregnant  silence  tapers  to  a  sound; 
The  river's  crossed  with  pulsing  silver  bars 

The  distant  lights  reflect;    upon  this  mound 
We  sit  through  this  eternal  hour  of  time 
And  read  the  book  our  souls  have  writ  in  rhyme : 

Youth's  golden  chapters  done  in  poetry  — 

But  where  this  river  here  runs  on  to  sea 
By  muddy  flats,  stone  walls,  and  wharves  that 
close 

The  glad  impulsive  welcome  of  its  home, 
So  henceforth  shall  Time  write  our  acts  in  prose; 

Yea,  and  when  God  adds  Finis  to  the  tome, 
This  Dedicatory  night  our  souls  will  blend, 
To   show,   though    life,   true    Friendship    cannot 
end. 


[24] 


ON    THE   DEATH   OF   THOMAS 
BAILEY  ALDRICH 

(March  19,  1907) 

I 

WHAT  sudden  bird  will  bring  us  any  cheer 
Whose  song  in  the  chill  dawn  gives  hope 
of  Spring; 

Can  we  be  glad  to  give  it  welcoming 
Though  April  in  its  music  be  so  near  ? 
Not  while  the  burden  of  our  memories  bear 
The  weight  of  silence  that  we  know  will  cling 
About  the  lips  that  nevermore  will  sing 
The  heart  of  him  with  visions  voiced  so  clear. 

There  is  a  pause  in  meeting  before  speech 
Between  men  who  have  fed  their  souls  with  song; 
The  strangeness  of  an  echo  beyond  reach 
Cleaves  silence  deep  for  speech  to  pass  along. 
There  are  no  words  to  tell  the  loss,  but  each 
Of  our  hearts  feels  the  sorrow  deep  and  strong. 


[25] 


II 

The  Wondersmith  in  vocables  is  dead! 
The  Builder  of  the  palaces  of  rhyme 
Shall  build  no  more  his  music  out  of  Time. 
In  the  deep,  breathless  peace  to  which  he  fled 
He  sits  with  Landor's  hands  upon  his  head 
Watching  our  suns  and  stars  that  sink  and  climb 
Between  him  and  our  tears'  continuous  chime  — 
Sorrowing  for  his  presence  vanished. 

Aldrich  is  dead !  but  the  glory  of  his  life 
Is  in  his  song,  and  this  will  keep  his  name 
Safe  above  change  and  the  assaults  of  strife. 
Poet,  whose  artistry,  his  constant  aim 
Kept  true  above  defections  that  were  rife, 
Death  taking  him,  still  leaves  his  deathless  fame. 

March  20,  21,   1907. 


[26] 


GOLDEN  MOONRISE 

WHEN  your  eyes  gaze  seaward 
Piercing  through  the  dim 
Slow  descending  nightfall, 
On  the  outer  rim 

Where  the  deep  blue  silence 
Touches  sky  and  sea, 
Hast  thou  seen  the  golden 
Moon,  rise  silently  ? 

Seen  the  great  battalions 
Of  the  stars  grow  pale  — 
Melting  in  the  magic 
Of  her  silver  veil  ? 

I  have  seen  the  wonder, 
I  have  felt  the  balm 
Of  the  golden  moonrise 
Turn  to  silver  calm. 


[27 


I 


MADAME  OF  DREAMS 

To  John  Russell  Hayes 
KNOW  a  household  made  of  pure  delight, 


That  sits  within  a  garden  of  quietness: 
A  welcomed  visitor  by  day  or  night, 

I  win  a  refuge  from  life's  storm  and  stress. 
Ah,  here  no  footfalls  cease  and  then  resume, 

Nor  sounds  of  closing  doors  nor  creaking  beams ; 
And  throned  within  her  favorite  gold  room 
Amid  the  roses'  perfume  and  the  gloom, 

I  greet  my  smiling  hostess,  Madame  of  Dreams. 

I  know  not  how  I  won  so  dear  a  friend, 

I  know  not  of  her  family  or  her  race; 
Her  voice  is  a  sweet  music  without  end 

Unfolding  the  wistful  beauty  of  her  face. 
She  has  known  all  the  world's  great  tragedies  — 

Was  at  the  ruins  of  Troy  and  Actium; 
And  her  deep  heart  holds  many  memories 
That  are  the  ghosts  of  countless  aching  sighs 

Dead  lovers  uttered  ere  their  lips  grew  dumb. 


[28] 


She  seems  so  old  from  her  experience  — 

With  Egypt's  queen  she  sailed  along  the  Nile  — 
She  heard  Demosthenes'  great  eloquence  — 

Saw  Camelot  melt  'neath  Arthur's  golden  smile. 
But  Time  has  dealt  with  her  as  with  the  sea, 

Whereon  it  leaves  not  any  scars  nor  seams; 
And  like  a  bud  that  breaks  at  last  to  be 
A  faultless  rose  June's  dews  and  suns  decree  — 

Beauty  and  Youth   have  crowned  Madame   of 
Dreams. 


[29] 


TO  FIONA 

DEAR  little  child,  whose  very  speech 
Gives  me  joy  beyond  my  heart's  measure, 
However  far  my  years  may  reach, 
Life  can  offer  no  greater  treasure. 

Loveliest  flower  in  my  garden  of  dreams! 

Mine  have  been  sweet  like  fairy  stories  — 
But  of  all  that  have  come  true,  it  seems 

Your  babyhood  brought  the  greatest  glories. 

All  my  life  long  I  have  tried  to  make 
Dreams  in  a  perfect  song  go  winging; 

I  knew  the  wonder  when  you  spake, 
And  your  life  went  a  lyric  singing. 


[30] 


TO   FIONA 

Nineteen  Months  Old 

NOW  my  songs  shall  grow 
Sweeter,  year  by  year, 
Just  because  I  know 

You  shall  read  them,  dear, 

When  your  little  hands, 
And  your  little  eyes,  ( 

Babyhood  expands 
Into  grown-up  wise. 

You  will  ask  me  then, 
Reading  what  I  write 

Of  my  youth  and    then 
Song  of  you  took  flight. 

Darling,  I  shall  say  — 
Just  because  I  knew 

In  some  future  day 
You  would  hold  them  true: 


[31 


"  Father  wrote  these  songs 
When  I  was  a  child ; 

Now  to  me  belongs 
All  his  dreams  exiled. 

"  Mine  is  all  the  joy, 
Mine  are  all  the  tears 

In  the  heart  of  boy 

And  the  man  of  years? 

This,  my  little  one, 
Is  what  you  will  say, 

When  my  songs  are  done, 
And  my  hair  is  grey. 

But  my  songs  I  know, 
Sweeter,  year  by  year, 

From  my  heart  will  flow 
For  your  soul  to  hear  — 

When  your  little  hands, 
And  your  little  eyes, 

Babyhood  expands 
Into  grown-up  wise. 

[32] 


OFF  THE  NEW  ENGLAND  COAST 

To  John  Daniel 
HE  earth  is  our  Mother,  but  thou,  thou  art 


T 


Father  of  us  and  of  Time, 
For   all   things   now  were   not,   when   thou   wast 

strong  in  thy  prime. 
There  was  silence   first  and  then   darkness,  and 

under  the  garment  of  these 
Was  the  body  of  thee  in  thy  might  with  its  infinite 

mysteries. 
And  God  alone  was  aware  of  thy  presence  and 

power  and  form: 
And  out  of  His   knowledge  foresaw  His  will  in 

thy  calm  and  storm; 
Answering   unto  His  will   he   gave  thee   lordship 

and  crown, 
And  bade  the  kingdoms  of  man  to  worship  thee 

and  bow  down. 
For  earth  He  made  out  of  dust  for  change  and 

defeat  in  the  blast  — 
But  thee   He   made    eternal,   through    aeons   and 

aeons  to  last 


[33] 


Unmarked   by  sun  or  wind,  supreme  where  thy 

waves  are  tost  — 
Not   an   inch    of  thy   Beauty   to   perish,   nor    an 

ounce  of  thy  Might  to  be  lost. 


[34] 


II 

Between  the  morning-star  and  the  sea 
The  black  night  hangs  disconsolately; 
Winds  from  the  gates  of  the  east  arise 
And  crack  the  silence  to  the  skies 
Through  which  the  long  grey  dawn  can  flee 
Between  the  morning-star  and  the  sea. 

Between  closed  eyelids  and  the  sea 
An  echo  floats  continuously; 
The  spirit  wavers  ere  'tis  won, 
As  the  east  pauses  ere  the  sun 
Lights  the  whole  world  up,  radiantly, 
Between  closed  eyelids  and  the  sea. 

Between  the  sunlight  and  the  sea 
Time  hoists  her  sails,  pulls  anchor  free; 
The  ship  of  Life  moves  on  its  keel  — 
Humanity  commands  the  wheel 
And  steers  for  one  more  Hope  to  be 
Between  the  sunlight  and  the  sea. 


[35] 


Ill 

The  night  being  done 

And  the  day  begun 

With  the  reappearance  of  the  lordly  sun, 

To  labor  and  cope 

The  earth  gives  scope, 

And  to  every  man  the  strength  of  hope. 

With  each  new  morn 

There  is  reborn 

Some  effort  which  yesterday  left  forlorn; 

For  a  little  rest, 

And  a  will  to  test, 

Is  the  road  that  runs  from  worst  to  best. 

No  man  is  poor 
Who  can  endure 

The  will  to  forget  what  is  past  and  sure, 
Of  the  change  and  fate 
That  participate 

In  defeats  that  passed  him  through  last  night's 
gate: 


[36] 


Instead  he  is  rich, 

Who  can  forward  pitch 

His  breast  to  the  front  of  To-day  —  to  which 

The  recompense 

Must  yield  defence, 

And  Time  surrender  the  consequence 


[37] 


IV 

Over  the  world  hangs  the  splendor  of  noonday, 
The  winds  fold  their  echoes  away  in  the  offing; 
Up  the  long  coast  comes  a  murmur  of  laughing 
Where  the  little  foam-waves  and  the  sand-dunes 

play. 

Here  far  away  from  man's  hating  and  scoffing, 
Time  leads  the  sun  home  to  the  house  of  his 
dreams. 

This  is  the  way  of  the  world  in  a  vision  — 
Hope  that's  alluring,  and  desires  that  follow: 
Tears  that  are  eloquent,  laughter  that's  hollow: 
Beauty  forever  pursuing  her  mission.  — 

But  I  care  not  for  these,  —  when  the  seas  call 

low 

Time  leads  the  sun  home  to  the  house  of  his 
dreams. 


[38] 


Greyness  of  dawn  cannot  dull  the  noon's  bright 
ness, 

Shadows  of  even  cannot  mask  it  and  darken; 
Men   of  the  world   may   pass   through   it,   nor 

hearken 

Beat  of  its  pulses  that  make  the  stars  sightless. 
Triumphing  out  of  the  pause  that  is  flightless 
Time  leads  the  sun  home  to   the   house  of  his 
dreams. 

This  is  the  joy  of  man's  heart  in  its  dreaming: 
The  midmost  heaven  of  all  his  desire  — 
Farther  than  noon  lo  !  the  sun  mounts  no  higher, 

And  Love  in  man's  life  is  his  noon-sun  a-beaming. 
Clouds  full  of  silence,  and  sky  full  of  fire, 
Time  leads  the  sun  home  to  the  house  of  his 
dreams. 


[39] 


OCTOBER  XXIX,  1795 

Keats'  Birth  Jay 

sitting  on  the  throne  of  Memory 
1     Bade   all    her   subject   Days,   the   past   had 

known, 

Arise  and  say  what  thing  gave  them  renown 
Unforgetable.     *  Rising  from  the  sea, 
I  gave  the  Genoese  his  dream  to  be;' 
'  I  saw  the  Corsican's  Guards  swept  down ; ' 
'  Colonies  I  made  free  from  a  tyrant's  crown ; ' 
So  each  Day  told  its  immortality. 

And  with  these  blazing  triumphs  spoke  one  voice 
Whose  wistful  speech  no  vaunting  did  employ: 
'  I  know  not  if  'twere  by  Fate's  chance  or  choice 
I  hold  the  lowly  birth  of  an  English  boy; 
I  only  know  he  made  man's  heart  rejoice 
Because  he  played  with  Beauty  for  a  toy/ 


[40] 


SONG  OF  A  SYRIAN  LACE  SELLER 

To   Edward   F.    Burns 

ON  the  sidewalk  by  the  busy  flow 
Of  peoples  passing  to  and  fro  — 
Where  the  wan  winter  sunlight  falls 
Across  the  grey  gates  of  St.  Paul's, 
A  woman  of  an  alien  race 
Stands  with  a  tray  of  fancy  lace. 

Swarthy  of  skin  with  raven  hair, 
A  daughter  of  the  Orient  there, 
Wearing  her  native  costume  yet 
Of  woven  shawl  and  long  head  net  — 
And  the  long  Syrian  sunrise 
Looking  out  from  her  curtained  eyes. 

The  curious,  intricate  designs 
Of  every  lace  in  faultless  lines 
Of  ancient  symbols  she  has  made, 
Turning  her  country's  lore  to  trade: 
The  Orient's  mystic  sorcery, 
In  this  far  land  across  the  sea. 


[41] 


Out  of  the  Common  sharp  and  fleet 
The  cold  winds  blow  across  the  street; 
And  their  shrill  voices  seem  to  say: 
Symbols  and  dreams  have  passed  away 
And  our  wise  western  world  decries 
All  their  lost  hidden  mysteries. 


[42] 


NYMPHOLEPSY 

'To  Burton  Kline 

THE  slanting  gleam  upon  the  wing 
Of  a  swift-darting  lark  that  flies; 
A  sudden  shadow  lengthening 
Up  the  hill-side  till  it  dies 
Melted  by  the  burning  sun; 
A  star  that  shoots  across  the  night, 
The  dews  dissolving  on  the  rose  — 
Ah,  to  see  perfection  won, 
Beauty  unfolded  to  the  sight,  — 
And  lose  it,  —  lose  it,  when  it  goes. 

I  know  that  half  our  hopes  are  vain,  — 
Our  finite  ears  pretend  to  catch 
Beyond  the  stars  a  spheral  strain; 
Our  Sentinel-souls  forever  watch 
For  that  dim  Spy  they  never  stop; 
We  make  our  bodies  clean  and  pure, 
We  fill  our  minds  with  lore  and  creed,  - 
Yet  long  before  the  curtains  drop 
The  tired  flesh  cannot  endure  — 
And  much  of  knowledge  do  we  need. 

[43] 


Out  of  the  twofold  heavenly  plan, 

The  mystical,  creative  will 

Wrought  forth  the  fine  achievement  Man  — 

Perfect,  and  yet  imperfect  still; 

The  dust  beaten  into  shape 

Is  flesh  artistic,  hue  and  line  — 

Splendid,  superb  Masterpiece; 

And  closed  therein  from  escape 

As  the  sap  within  the  vine, 

The  Soul  that  gives  the  dust  increase. 

Now  which  one  shall  I  strive  to  turn 

To  life's  best  usage  while  I  stay 

Where  suns  and  winds  may  touch  and  burn 

Flesh  —  and  faith  and  creed  o'erlay 

The  soul  ?     Must  they  be  separate 

In  a  world  that  nourishes  both 

To  perfection's  destined  end  ? 

Must  my  soul  carry  a  dead  weight 

And  stunt  my  flesh's  imperial  growth, 

And  thwart  the  Inspirations  trend? 


[44] 


TO  DANTE  GABRIEL  ROSSETTI 

GREETINGS,  Master,  take  from  me 
Where  thou  art,  beyond,  above 
Imminent  touch  of  earth  and  sea. 
May  thy  spirit  there  approve 
This  oblation  of  my  love 

Unto  thee, 
Sent  from  where  I  be  and  move. 

How  can  death  divide  and  keep  — 

Though  it  conquers  sight  and  sound  — 
Silences  so  wide  and  deep 

Neither  Life  nor  Death  can  bound  ? 

In  a  circle  winding  round 
Wake  and  sleep, 

Souls  that  search  "and  sweep  are  found. 


[45] 


I  salute  thee,  and  rejoice, 

Master,  whom  our  hearts  now  own 
Thine,  as  the  one  faultless  voice 

In  the  praise  of  Beauty  blown 

Since  Keats'  lips  were  turned  to  stone, 
Ears  from  noise 

Of  a  world  whose  choice  is  known. 

Unto  Beauty  thou  didst  wed 

Music,  pure  and  absolute, 
Till  men's  hearts  agreed  and  said 

Thou  didst  master  Shelley's  lute  — 

Time  no  longer  can  dispute, 
Laurelled  head, 

Thy  long  memoried  repute. 

Subtle  shapen  melodies, 

Thou,  my  Master,  bidst  arise, 
Colored  as  the  autumn  trees, 

Tremulous  with  sudden  sighs, 

How  God's  magic  underlies 
Earth  and  seas 

Secret  sounds  like  these  comprise. 


[46] 


APRILIAN   RHAPSODY 

QTRAIGHT  in  the  heart  of  the  April  meadows, 
k3     Straight  in  the  dream  in  the  heart  of  you; 
Deep  in  the  glory  of  gleams  and  shadows, 
Flame  and  gossamer,  green  and  blue  — 

Out  of  the  nowhere  east  from  yonder, 

Out  of  the  presences  felt  and  seen, 
Filled  with  the  first  unremember'd  wonder, 

Radiant  with  the  memory  of  last  year's  green  — 

Straight  in  the  heart  of  the  April  meadows, 
Straight  in  the  dream  in  the  heart  of  you  — 

Spring  —  in  the  glory  of  gleams  and  shadows, 
Flame  and  gossamer,  green  and  blue ! 


[47] 


A  SONG  OF  LIVING 

To  Dr.  Marcus  F.   Wheatland 

IT  is  so  good  to  be  alive: 
To  have  deep  dreams:   to  greatly  strive 
Through  the  day's  work :   to  dance  and  sing 
Between  the  times  of  sorrowing  — 
To  have  a  clear  faith  in  the  end 
That  death  is  life's  best,  trustful  friend. 

To  be  alive:   to  hear  and  see 
This  wonderful,  strange  pageantry 
Of  earth,  in  which  each  hour's  session 
Brings  forth  a  new  unknown  procession 
Of  joys :   stars,  flowers,  seas  and  grass 
In  ever  new  guise  before  me  pass. 

To  have  deep  dreams :   ah  me,  ah  me ! 

To  bring  far  things  close  by  to  see; 

To  have  my  voyaging  soul  explore 

Beyond  my  body's  ponderous  door. 

To  make  my  love  from  a  thousand  graces, 

Seen  in  a  thousand  women's  faces. 


[48] 


To  greatly  strive:   perform  my  share 
Of  work :   for  the  world  grows  more  fair 
To  him  who  measures  Time  and  Fate 
By  what  his  laboring  days  create  — 
For  work  is  the  voice  that  lifts  to  God 
The  adoration  of  the  sod. 

To  dance  and  sing:   my  body's  praise 

For  being  fair  in  many  ways. 

It  hath  no  other  voice  than  this 

To  thank  God  for  a  moment's  bliss  — 

When  art  and  heaven  together  trust 

Joy  to  the  perfection  of  the  dust. 

Times  of  sorrowing:   yea,  to  weep: 
To  wash  my  soul  with  tears,  and  keep 
It  clean  from  earth's  too  constant  gain, 
Even  as  a  flower  needs  the  rain 
To  cool  the  passion  of  the  sun, 
And  takes  a  fresh  new  glory  on. 


[49] 


To  have  clear  faith:  —  through  good  or  ill 
We  but  perform  some  conscious  will 
Higher  than  man's.     The  world  at  best 
In  all  things  doth  but  manifest 
That  God  has  set  his  eternal  seal 
Upon  the  unsubstantial  real. 


[50 


AVE   AND   VALE 

OH  far  away  across  the  beach 
The  mist  is  in  the  sunset, 
And  dreams  lie  low 

In  the  silence  of  the  foam; 
Beyond  the  dim  horizon 

Where  the  creeping  darkness  pauses 
I  hear  the  grey  winds  calling 
And  they  lead  desire  home. 
O  Ave  to  the  evening  star, 

And  Vale  to  the  setting  sun; 
And  a  deep,  deep  sea  across  the  bar 
Where  the  grey  winds  call  and  run. 


[51 


Oh  far  across  the  hope  of  speech 

A  doubt  is  on  desire, 
And  Love  lies  low 

In  the  pauses  of  my  heart; 
My  speech  and  silence  hovers 

On  the  verge  of  phantom  futures, 
While  I  watch  the  morrows  dawning 
And  the  yesterdays  depart. 
O  Ave  to  the  evening  star, 

And  Vale  to  the  setting  sun; 
And  a  deep,  deep  sea  across  the  bar 
Where  the  grey  winds  call  and  run. 


[52] 


HOC  ERAT  IN  VOTIS 

I'LL  leap  to  your  desire 
With  a  flight  more  swift  than  light, 
Though  your  soul  should  be  a  fire, 
And  mine,  a  moth  in  the  night. 

I'll  leap  to  your  desire 
As  the  lark  does  to  the  sun, 
Though  it  can  fly  no  higher 
Than  the  topmost  clouds  may  run. 

I'll  leap  to  your  desire  — 
And  I  pray  God  night  and  day, 
To  set  your  soul  on  fire 
And  burn  my  dreams  away. 


[53] 


T 


IN  THE  PUBLIC  GARDEN 

August,   1904 

HE  illumined  fountain  flashed  in  the  pond, 

It  was  purple,  and  green,  and  white,  — 
You  and  I  in  the  crowd,  and  beyond, 
The  shining  stars  and  night. 

Beyond  were  the  shining  stars  and  the  night,  — 
And  near  was  the  fountain  at  play. 

—  But  ah,  the  dreams  that  have  taken  flight, 
And  never  come  home  to  stay. 


[54] 


RAIN  IN  SUMMER 

THE     afternoon    grew     darkening     from     the 
west; 

A  hush  fell  on  the  air,  and  in  the  trees; 
The  huddled  birds  pronounced  their  prophecies; 
The  flowers  bent  their  heads  as  if  to  rest 
Now  that  the  tide  of  the  sun's  golden  seas 
In  one  long  wave  swept  off  the  earth's  wide  breast. 
Up  sprung  deft  shadowy  patterns  by  degrees, 
And  nature's  face  her  soul  made  manifest. 

Lo,  in  the  instant,  slant,  like  a  hanging  string 
Of  silver  glass  beads,  pendant  from  the  clouds 
The  rain  descends !     Leaves  sing,  and  wavering 
The  tall  lithe  grasses  dance  in  separate  crowds. 
I  stand  and  let  my  soul  commune,  it  knows 
The  mystery  that  calls  it  from  its  close. 


[55] 


THE  ETERNAL  SELF 

To   Vere  Goldthwaite 

THIS  earth  is  but  a  semblance  and  a  form  - 
An  apparition  poised  in  boundless  space; 
This  life  we  live  so  sensible  and  warm, 
Is  but  a  dreaming  in  a  sleep  that  stays 
About  us  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave. 
Things  seen  are  as  inconstant  as  a  wave 
That  must  obey  the  impulse  of  the  wind; 
So  in  this  strange  communicable  being 
There  is  a  higher  consciousness  confined  — 
But  separate  and  divine,  and  foreseeing. 

Our  bodies  are  but  garments  made  of  clay 
That  is  a  smothering  weight  upon  the  soul  — 
But  as  the  sun,  conquering  a  cloudy  day, 
Our  spirits  penetrate  to  Source  and  Goal. 
That  intimate  and  hidden  quickening 
Bestowing  sense  and  color  with  the  Spring, 
Is  felt  and  known  and  seen  in  the  design 
By  unsubstantial  Self  within  the  portal 
Of  this  household  of  flesh,  that  doth  confine 
Part  of  the  universally  immortal. 

[56] 


Beyond  the  prison  of  our  hopes  and  fears, 

Beyond  the  undertow  of  passion's  sea  — 

And   stronger   than   the   strength    earth   holds   in 

years, 
Lives  man's  subconscious  personality. 

0  world  withheld !    seen  through  the  hazy  drift 
Of  this  twilight  of  flesh,  when  sleep  shall  lift 

1  shall  go  forth  my  own  true  self  at  last, 
And  glory  in  the  triumph  of  my  winning 
The  road  that  joins  the  Future  and  the  Past, 
Where  I  can  reach  the  Ending  and  Beginning! 


[57] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  DEATH 

LO,  a  house  untenanted 
Stands  beside  the  road  of  Time; 
They  who  lived  there  once,  have  fled 
To  some  other  house  and  clime. 

Towers  pointing  to  the  sky 

With  long  shadows  on  the  ground, 
Never  shade  a  passerby, 

Never  echo  back  a  sound. 


[58] 


AT  NEWPORT 

Sunrise:     Batemans  Point 

HERE'S  the  land's  end,  just  discerned 
By  the  sheer  fall,  where  the  sea  below 
Runs  less  wild  since  the  tide  has  turned, 
And  daybreak  lingers  weird  and  low. 

Between  the  dawn  and  hovering  night, 
On  the  grey  sea-roof  of  the  earth, 
A  crimson  circle  lifts  in  sight 
And  Time  gives  day  eternal  birth. 


[59] 


Sunset:     On  the  Beach 

I  hear  across  the  murmuring  sea 
The  sunset  cannon's  sullen  boom, 
Whose  distant  dying  echoes  flee 
Before  the  silence  of  the  gloom. 

The  long  pale  shadows  creep  along 
The  dunes  and  over  the  water's  verge; 
A  dusky  sea-mist  rises  up 
Above  whose  veil  the  ships  emerge. 

I  know  full  soon  the  night  will  come, 
And  one  shall  find  me  waiting  near: 
Our  hands  will  touch,  our  lips  grow  dumb, 
And  dreams  steal  on  us  unaware. 


[60] 


SIC  VITA 

HEART  free,  hand  free, 
Blue  above,  brown  under, 
All  the  world  to  me 

Is  a  place  of  wonder. 
Sun  shine,  moon  shine, 

Stars,  and  winds  a-blowing, 
All  into  this  heart  of  mine 
Flowing,  flowing,  flowing! 

Mind  free,  step  free, 

Days  to  follow  after, 
Joys  of  life  sold  to  me 

For  the  price  of  laughter. 
Girl's  love,  man's  love, 

Love  of  work  and  duty, 
Just  a  will  of  God's  to  prove 

Beauty,  beauty,  beauty! 


[61] 


A  SONG  OF   THE   SIXTH   MONTH 

GLAD,  mad,  and  a  bit  sad  too  — 
Face  o'  the  rose  in  the  eye  of  the  sun; 
God  has  dreamed  and  his  work  is  done  — 
June's  on  the  world,  heigh-ho! 

See  how  the  greenish  shadow  raises 
Patterns  on  the  sun's  flood  of  golden  blazes 
Round  a  pink,  slim  girl  knee-deep  in  daisies. 

What  is  this  slow  full  sense  of  Time ! 
This  great  armada  of  chirp  and  song, 
That  are  as  a  host  of  sails  that  throng 
Across  June's  tidal  sea  of  rhyme. 

Buttercups  and  daisies,  sing  low,  sing  high  — 
Age  is  a  fable,  death  is  a  lie  — 
And  June's  too  good  to  tell  us  why! 


[62] 


FROM  THE  CROWD 

I   WAS  captive  to  a  dream  — 
And  only  vague  forms  went  by; 
And  the  tumult  was  the  sigh 
Of  the  sea  at  the  end  of  a  stream. 

The  clangor  of  cars  in  the  street, 
Darkness  and  clouds  overhead, 
And  out  of  the  lights  that  spread 
The  crowds  that  part  and  meet. 

As  the  foam  of  a  wave  will  mark 
The  night  with  a  shining  track, 
A  girl's  pale  face  turned  back 
Crossing  the  street  in  the  dark. 

It  was  only  a  second's  glance, 
But  my  soul  leaped  out  to  her: 
I  felt  my  shaken  memories  stir 
The  dreams  of  an  ancient  trance. 


[63] 


LOVE  LEADS  HOME 

NOW  that  all  the  twilight  glimmers    through 
the  lane, 

As  of  old,  wandering,  dreaming  let  us  go; 
Living  so,  tenderly,  youth  and  love  again, 
Bringing  back  the  past,  dear,  known  unto  us 

twain  — 
Tasting  the  happiness  that  we  used  to  know. 

Youth  went   from   us   long   ago,   fading  like   the 

foam 

That  a  ship  passing  leaves  trailing  on  the  sea; 
Seemingly  youth  may  die,  hopes  may  stray  and 

roam : 
Faithful   hearts   kept   true   and  young  will   Love 

lead  home  — 
Home  to  his  first  dwelling-place   in   the   heart  of 

thee. 


[64] 


THE  FULL  HOPE 

LORD  of  my  life  before  whose  will  I  yield 
Lo !     I  withdraw  the  barriers  of  my  pride; 
Let  my  heart  swell  a  windless  evening  tide 
Till  all  the  marshland  of  my  past's  concealed; 
Let  stillness  in  my  ecstasy  be  sealed 
Deep  as  the  swelling  sea  is  deep  and  wide; 
Lord  of  my  life,  where  all  my  dreams  abide, 
Take  me  into  thy  dwelling  who  am  healed. 

Ah,  Love !   we  shall  dwell  here  for  ever  more  — 

In  this  great  dwelling  of  our  Hope  fulfilled; 

Ever  the  past  behind  us,  and  before 

The  golden  future.     What  the  gods  have  willed 

Of  good  or  bad  to  enter  at  the  door, 

We  shall  dwell  here  until  our  hearts  are  stilled. 


[65 


A  LITTLE  WHILE  BEFORE 
FAREWELL 

little  while  before  farewell" — WILLIAM  MORRIS 

A  LITTLE  while  before  farewell 
What  shall  time  say  our  lives  befel 
Between  the  summons  and  the  hour  ? 
Shall  it  be  like  a  red  rose-flower 
Whose  perfume  is  remembered  bliss: 
While  thus  in  silence  our  souls  kiss, 
With  no  sad  words  to  break  the  spell ! 

With  no  sad  words  to  break  the  spell 

A  little  while  before  farewell ! 

Only  the  longing  in  your  eyes 

To  comfort  me  in  Paradise. 

And  there  behind  the  silences 

I  know  the  world's  forgetfulness 

Can  change  not,  eyes  that  speak  so  well. 


[66] 


Can  change  not,  eyes  that  speak  so  well 

Where  my  love  lives  imperishable. 

And  passionate  words  can  say  no  more: 

Nor  tears  show  grief  is  oversore : 

But  just  your  sad  eyes  —  O  how  strange 

The  loneliness !    the  sudden  change ! 

A  little  while  before  farewell! 

A  little  while  before  farewell: 

How  quick  Time  runs  to  strike  the  knell. 

When  the  dim  curtain  covering  me 

Comes  down  from  great  Eternity  — 

O  then,  my  love,  let  there  be  heard 

One  never-ending  sigh  and  word  — 

The  low-breathed,  whispered,  long  farewell! 


[67] 


TO    BEAUTY 

O  MISTRESS   of  the  world!     Heaven's  own 
dear  child ! 

Priestess  of  Joy,  and  things  that  holy  are; 
Under  thy  smile  men's  hearts  are  reconciled, 
And  after  thy  light,  they  follow,  as  a  star 
Follows  the  moon  across  the  tide 
A  constant  wooer  at  its  side. 
And  I  will  follow,  follow  thee  so  far 
Across  the  tide  of  life,  and  will  adore 
And  worship  thee  in  visions  evermore. 

O  Maiden  of  shy  innocence  I  say 

Thou  art  too  fair  to  live  in  widowhood; 
Since  Keats,  thy  lover,  sleeps  in  Roman  clay, 
For  thee  to  be  forsaken  were  not  good. 
I  fain  would  be  thy  wooer, 
Thou  canst  not  find  one  truer, 
For  I  will  love  thee  in  whatever  mood 
Thy  sensitive  and  most  delicate  soul 
Doth  on  my  spirit  work  its  sweet  control. 


[68] 


And  it  shall  nevermore  be  truly  said 

The  glory  of  the  world  hath  passed  away; 
Ah,  no!    the  heart  of  dreams  shall  raise  its  head 
And  Poesy  again  will  hold  her  sway. 
Oh,  give  me  power  to  teach 
The  wonder  of  thy  speech, 
And  give  thy  heavenly  message  to  our  day: 
For  the  barren  hearts  of  men  have  need 
Of  the  humane  influence  of  thy  creed. 


[69] 


SONG:  TO-DAY  AND  TO-MORROW 

HPO-DAY  and  to-morrow,  and  the  days  that 
I         come  after, 

Springtime  and  summer  and  two  seasons  more; 

The  night  full  of  tears  and  the  day  full  of  laughter, 

And  dreams  that  come  in  and  go  out  of  the 

door. 

O  Time  that  is  fleeting  too  fast  for  our  capture, 
While  the  heart  of  our  dreams  beholds  it  pass 

by- 
The  yearning   and   burning,   the   desire   and   the 

rapture, 

Till  we  home  to  the  earth  and  we  home  to  the 
sky. 


[70] 


O  harvest  of  dreams !    when  the  sowing  is  over 

And  fulfilment  of  growth  gives  over  all  plying  — 
Ah,  down  the  long  sunset  of  life  the  heart-rover 
Turns    twilight    to   weeping    and    darkness    to 

sighing. 
We  gather  the  harvest  of  dreams  and  we  store 

them 
Deep  down  in  our  hearts  for  the  hunger  that 

craves 
When    springtime    and    summer,  —  the    laughter 

that  bore  them, 

Sails  away  like  a  ship  that  we  watch  on  the 
waves. 


[71] 


LATE  AUGUST 


of  heart  in  the  dreams  I  bear 
V^x     Green  leaf  turns  to  brown; 
The  second  half  of  the  month  is  here, 
The  days  are  closing  down. 

Love  so  swift  to  up  and  follow 

The  season's  fugitive, 
If  thou  must,  make  rapture  hollow, 

But  leave  me  dreams  to  live. 

Change  of  heart!     O  season's  end! 

Time  and  tide  and  sorrow! 
I  care  not  what  the  Fates  may  send, 

Here's  to  ye,  goodmorrow! 


[72] 


MALAGUENA 

To  Isabel   Ward  Carter 

I   HAVE  named  you  Malaguena, 
Malaguena,  Malaguena  — 
Though  your  eyes  have  never  burned  me, 
Nor  your  lips  have  spoke,  and  turned  me 

In  a  whirl  of  mad  delight. 
But  the  many  stars  that  whisper 

In  the  night, 
And  the  vagrant  winds  that  lisper 

Through  the  day, 
In  the  music  of  my  dreams  have  learned  to  play, 

Malaguena,  Malaguena ! 

All  things  name  you,  Malaguena, 

Malaguena,  Malaguena  — 
Birds  that  sing  in  rangeless  rapture, 
And  the  glory  that  we  capture 

From  the  coronated  rose: 
All  the  passion  in  the  ocean's 

Ebbs  and  flows; 
Ah,  they  fill  me  with  emotions 

Naught  can  tame, 
When  I  seek  you  in  the  shadow  of  a  name, 

Malaguena,  Malaguena ! 

[73] 


^     OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 


When  I  meet  you,  Malaguena, 

Malaguena,  Malaguena  — 
Shall  we  stop  and  gaze  in  wonder  ? 
Nay,  like  winds  that  meet  in  thunder 

We  will  close  in  tight  embrace, 
And  my  kisses  flash  like  lightning 

On  your  face; 
Then  our  souls  will  feel  the  tightning 

Each  to  each, 
Till  remoulded  into  one  they  break  in  speech, 

Malaguena,  Malaguena! 


[74] 


SONG:   AS  A  NEW-MADE  BRIDE 

AS  a  new-made  bride  at  the  altar-stair, 
I  have  given  my  life  for  good  or  ill, 
To  Song,  my  bridegroom:   a  mated  pair 
The  bride  shall  do  the  bridegroom's  will. 

And  we'll  keep  house  as  never  before 

Was  household  kept  on  the  hill  of  dreams, 

Where  Beauty  will  be  a  sign  on  the  door 
From  which  Joy  gleams. 


[75] 


UNDER  THE  STARS 

1TAKE  my  soul  in  my  hand, 
I  give  it,  a  bounding  ball 
(Over  Love's  sea  and  land), 

For  you  to  toss  and  let  fall 
At  command. 

Dear,  as  we  sit  here  together  — 
Silence  and  alternate  speech, 

Dreams  that  are  loose  from  the  tether, 
Stars  in  an  infinite  reach 

Of  dark  ether: 

Over  and  under  and  through 

Silence  and  stars  and  the  dreams, 

How  my  emotions  pursue, 

With  a  still  passion  that  teems 

Full  of  you. 

O  what  can  the  stars  desire, 
And  what  can  the  night  fulfil, 

Of  a  thousand  thoughts  on  fire 
That  burns  on  my  soul's  high  hill 

Like  a  pyre. 

[76] 


Does  the  flame  leap  upward,  where 
God  feels  —  and  heat  makes  human, 

Pity,  in  His  heart  —  a  snare 
To  win  worship  for  a  woman 

Unaware  ? 

If  He  made  all  Time  for  this, 
O  beloved,  shall  we  not  dare 

To  crown  His  dream  with  a  kiss, 
While  each  new-born  star  makes  fair 

Night's  abyss  ? 


[77] 


TEARS 

1SAW  the   picture  of  your  face  woven  in   the 
rain; 

All  day  long  the  rain  fell,  —  fell  into  my  soul ; 
I  knew  your  heart  last  night  was  like  music  full 

of  pain, 

And  from  your  wistful  eyes  I  saw  the  sad  tears 
roll. 

Oh,  silent  are  the  heavy  clouds,  and  silent  is  the 

heart, 
And    silence    clothes   the    dreams   that   hold    the 

future  years; 
But  musical  are  raindrops,  and  eyes  that  droop 

apart 
To  let  the  music  of  your  soul  come  flowing  through 

your  tears. 


[78] 


SONG 

T^AILURE  is  a  crown  of  sorrow, 
1         Success  a  crown  of  fears  — 
From  the  Book  of  Life  we  borrow 
Leaves  to  turn  the  years. 

Art  is  but  a  joy  divine, 

God  says  yea  or  nay  — 
Love  alone  is  worth  the  time, 

Live  it  as  we  may. 


[79] 


A  VISIT  TO  OAK  -  LODGE 

To  Nixon   Waterman 

THE   Heights  of  Arlington  were  wrapped   in 
snow; 

And  over  all  the  carmine  sunset  flush, 
Gave  nature's  face  a  woman's  love-lit  blush, 
As  if  her  heart  dreamed  of  the  spring  below; 
So   high   your   house,    dear   friend,   I    seemed   to 

grow 

Up  to  the  evening  star,  where  in  the  hush 
Of  twilight,  I  did  feel  the  pulses  brush 
My  soul,  rising  from  the  city  that  we  know. 

At  last  I  reached  your  door  —  you  welcomed  me 
With   your  warm   genial    smile   and   close   hand 
shake, 

And  gave  me  greetings  to  your  company  — 
Your  friends,  whom  you   made  mine  for  friend 
ship's  sake. 

And  there  before  your  blazing  logs  did  we 
Soon  hear  the  voice  of  dreams  upon  us  break. 


[80] 


SONG:  THE   TRAIL   OF   STARS 

WHEN  mortals  tread  the  trail  of  stars, 
High  is  the  heart,  O  high: 
For  all  things  else  are  of  the  earth, 
But  Love  is  of  the  sky. 

The  trail  they  tread  is  a  path  of  dreams, 

Where  Love  a-journeying  goes 
To  a  garden  beyond  the  gates  of  night 

Where  blooms  a  flower  Love  knows. 


[81 


THOMAS  WENTWORTH  HIGGINSON 

For  His  Eighty-third  Birthday 

BENEATH  the  bare-boughed  Cambridge  elms 
to-day 

Time  takes  no  flight  in  his  unwintered  heart; 
Where  fourscore  years  and  three  came  to  depart, 
The  vision  shines  that  cannot  burn  away. 
In  perils  of  change  his  voice  is  still  our  stay, 
Who  kept  the  true  direction  from  the  start. 
He  knew  no  deed  born  from  his  thought  apart  — 
And  held  his  pen  Truth's  summons  to  obey. 

O  reverend  head,  take  this  our  crown  of  praise, 
On  this,  thy  Birthday,  hallowed  by  our  love; 

A  soldier's  honor  and  a  poet's  bays; 

In  public  heed  thy  virtues  held  to  prove  — 

Though  long,  we  wish  thee  longer,  length  of  days, 
To  lead  us  up  the  heights  where  we  would  move. 


[82] 


WILLIAM   DEAN  HOWELLS 

For  His  Seventieth  Birthday 


years!     The  magic     of  youth 
vJ  Wrought  in  the  stern  old  age  of  Truth. 
Seventy  years  has  Howells  grown 
Through  the  infinite  seen  to  the  finite  known. 
Shed  in  his  wonder  of  things  commonplace 
A  mind  of  wisdom,  a  heart  of  grace; 
Building  life  on  the  faith  he  had 
That  the  world  was  neither  too  good  nor  bad. 
Years  has  he  reached  of  the  liberal  span 
Vouchsafed  the  journey  of  mortal  man  : 
And  keeping  good  trust  of  soul  and  heart 
The  Master  built  him  a  palace  of  Art. 


[83] 


"  Open  my  heart  and  you  shall  see 
Gravd  inside  of  it,  '  Italy.'  " 
Open  his  heart  and  read  inside, 
"  America  "  —  writ  with  a  passionate  pride. 
And  this  one  symbol  of  hope  and  strife 
Wove  to  his  vision  the  magic  of  life. 
At  the  end  of  a  journey  of  seventy  years 
The  painter  who  drew  its  joys  and  fears, 
Its  shape  of  body,  its  essence  of  soul, 
The  ways  it  travels  to  reach  its  goal  — 
Stands  to-day  in  the  glories  they  shed, 
The  laurel  of  greatness  on  his  head. 

The  Master  at  Seventy!     He  it  is  knows 
The  way  of  perfection  hid  deep  in  a  rose! 


[84] 


THE   SHEPHERD  OF  THE   FLOCK 
OF   DREAMS 

HE  calls  them  out  with  a  musical  shout 
From  the  folds  that  are  lying  nowhere; 
And  up  they  climb  to  the  meadows  of  Time 

Through  the  seasons  of  the  slow  year. 
With  bleat,  bleat,  bleat,  on  the  road  they  beat, 

On  the  great  highways  of  vision, 
Where  I  hear  them  knock,  the  long  white  flock, 
With  a  rhythmical  precision. 

He  follows  them  forth  who  values  their  worth 

For  the  clothing  of  man's  desire; 
And  he  makes  no  claim  for  pelf  or  fame, 

For  he's  far  too  rich  to  aspire. 
His  kingdom  lies  in  the  long  sunrise 

Of  life,  where  the  nations  arose, 
And  he  gathers  his  sheep  from  the  fields  of  sleep 

Where  the  hopes  of  the  world  repose. 


[85] 


THE   FIRST   BORN 

MY  little  babe  was  two  hours  old ! 
I  came  in  from  the  wind  and  rain 
The  summons  gave  me  joy  and  pain  — 
More  wonder  than  my  heart  could  hold. 

The  winter  afternoon  was  dim  — 
A  faint  light  shone  across  the  bed; 
My  wife  with  one  dear  arm  outspread 

Was  holding  the  little  life  of  him. 

There  on  the  threshold  where  I  stood 
I  had  no  wish  to  speak  or  move: 
For  there  God's  presence  did  approve 

This  Mary  of  the  Sisterhood. 


[86 


LA   BELLE   DE   DEMERARA 

HER  face  was  a  fair  olive  hue; 
Eyes  like  a  tropic  night  when  dew 
Makes  the  air  heavy  to  the  sea's  rim; 
Figure  like  a  willow,  subtle,  slim, 
That  had  the  grace  of  a  young  queen; 
Hair,  as  the  Empress  Josephine 
Fashioned,  when  Paris  bowed  to  her: 

—  La  belle  de  Demerara. 

I  see  it  all  as  in  a  dream: 
Georgetown's  seawall,  where  the  stream 
Of  Quality  flows;    among  them  moves 
She,  whom  the  city's  pride  approves, 
What  beauty  gave  and  virtue  crowned 
When  music  charmed  their  lips  to  sound 
This  name  their  hearts  bestowed  on  her, 

—  La  belle  de  Demerara. 


[87] 


Sir  Francis  Hincks,  at  Government  House 

On  a  gala  night  before  her  bows; 

Out  from  England  on  duty  sent 

The  Colonel  of  the  regiment 

Glides  with  her  in  the  stately  dance; 

And  in  her  soft  vivacious  glance 

Chief-Justice  Beaumont  bends  to  her: 

—  La  belle  de  Demerara. 

0  Poet  who  sang  of  Dorothy  Q.  ; 

1  have  a  Great-Grandmother  too, 
Born  in  a  British  colonial  place, 
Sent  to  learn  Parisian  grace; 

Who  won  all  hearts  in  her  demesne 
By  the  Caribbean's  warm  blue  sheen: 
And  large  is  the  debt  I  owe  to  her, 

—  La  belle  de  Demerara. 


[88] 


THE   ANNUNCIATION  OF   THE 
VIRGIN 

AS    one   who   hath    been    dreaming   all    night 
long  — 

Some  blissful,  sweet,  but  dim  foreboding  dream, 
Wherein  the  soul  hath  kissed  some  joy  supreme 
But  knows  not  whence  nor  whither,  sight  or 

song- 

Mary  awoke    'midst  her  lone  chamber's  throng 
Of  chanting  silences.     Her  soul  did  seem 
Aware  —  as  earth  is  at  the  dawn's  first  gleam  — 
Of  strange  primordial  moods  it  gropes  among. 

With  the  day's  full-blown  rose  of  light  she  knew 
Her  dreams  had  been  her  marriage-bed  with  God; 
Her  soul  now  trembled  in  its  nakedness 
Before   the    Bridegroom:     while    her    heart   lived 

through 

The  consecrating,  tender  period 
Till  she  should  hold  her  Child  with  a  caress. 


[89] 


GOLDEN   HAIR 

ONCE   I   made   a   little   poem   out  of  golden 
hair, 

I  put  it  in  a  dream  and  sent  it  to  a  rose; 
And  in  the  early  dawn  when  I  walked  the  garden 

fair, 

I  saw  you,  dear,  before  you  went  as  every  shadow 
goes. 

O  golden  is  the  web  o'  the  sun,  golden  is  the 

sea, 
And   golden   is   the   rose's   heart  that   makes   the 

garden  fair  — 

All  golden  is  the  shadow  that's  in  the  heart  of  me, 
And  golden  is  the  buried  dream  shrouded  in  golden 

hair. 


[90] 


GREY   DAWN 

THE  grey  dawn  creeps  on  a  shadowed  sea, 
And  the  morning-star  is  a  ghostly  beam; 
And  or  ever  the  sun  lifts  silently  — 

0  Love !   was  it  a  dream  ? 

I  felt  you  come  like  the  light  at  dawn, 

1  opened  my  soul  to  envelop  the  gleam; 
Ah,  the  Memory  stays,  though  the  day  is  gone  - 

O  Love !   was  it  a  dream  ? 


[91] 


IN  THE  ATHENAEUM  LOOKING 
OUT  ON  THE  GRANARY  BURY 
ING  GROUND  ON  A  RAINY  DAY 
IN  NOVEMBER 

HERE  in  this  ancient,  dusty  room 
Filled  with  the  rain-washed  chill  and  gloom, 
The  wistful  books  stand  'round  in  hosts  — 
Familiar  friends  of  forgotten  ghosts 
Who  sleep  in  their  narrow  beds  below 
When  daylight  walks,  and  by  them  go 
The  unremembering  city  throng. 
Here  where  dust  and  silence  belong 
I  feel  their  presence  in  each  nook 
As  if  they  too  would  stand  and  look 
With  me,  out  where  the  motley  city  lies, 
With  timid,  unrecollecting  eyes. 


[92] 


I  feel  the  damp  creep  round  my  heart 
Because  my  thoughts  have  grown  a  part 
Of  the  infinite,  ancient  sense  of  pain 
Echoing  voices  in  the  rain. 
How  long  its  unassuaging  cry 
Has  filled  man's  memory  with  a  sigh 
When  wind  and  rain  among  bare  trees 
Has  made  even  joy  feel  ill  at  ease! 
Joy !  —  where  that  tortuous  winding  coil 
Of  slaves  to  duty,  sweat  and  toil  — 
Does  joy  dwell  there  ?   this  monotone 
Of  rain  is  far  more  dumb  of  groan. 

How  old  the  world  is  —  yet  I  think 
No  man  has  yet  had  his  full  drink 
Of  joy,  while  life  flowed  in  his  veins 
Or  disillusion  racked  his  brains. 
How  like  a  picture  shadow-bound 
That  street  is  'cross  the  burial  ground ! 
And  from  this  room  those  forms  out  there 
Are  not  so  real  as  ghosts  in  here. 


[93] 


AS  SILENT  THROUGH  THE  WORLD 
SHE  GOES 

AS  silent  through  the  world  she  goes 
Companioned  by  a  withered  rose, 
Where  nothing  is,  but  all  things  seem 
The  heavy  will  of  a  ghostly  dream: 

Even  so  she  knows  not  life  from  death, 
Nor  words  from  music's  golden  breath; 
The  wind's  moan  is  the  sea-moan's  heart, 
And  Love  from  Grief  dwells  not  apart. 


[94] 


ENIGMAS 

THE  joy  of  the  world  is  in  a  man's  strength, 
The  sorrow  of  the  world  in  a  woman's  tears; 
Beauty  lives  and  dies  in  a  second's  length, 
And  Time  rolls  on  the  years. 

The  battles  of  the  world  are  in  a  man's  dream, 
The  altars  of  the  world  in  a  woman's  eyes; 
Out  of  Eden  follows  one  long  far  gleam 
Till  the  last  slow  sunset  dies. 


f95] 


SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH 

HE  heard  the  four  winds  and  the  seven  seas, 
And  voices  inland  under  alien  stars, 
And  drove  ambition  like  auroral  cars 
Striking  the  hill-tops  when  the  darkness  flees. 
Vain  in  his  dreams,  but  brave  in  his  vanities; 
No  carpet-knight  yet  versed  in  parlor  wars; 
And  half  a  rogue  when  honesty  debars 
The  desire  to  take  the  prize  his  fancy  sees. 

And  yet  he  knew  the  silences  of  speech  — 
The  leaf-heard  utterance  of  April  rains; 
The  echoes  in  the  twilight  out  of  reach 
Beyond  the  dim  horizon  where  it  wanes. 
And  like  the  distant  sea-wash  on  the  beach 
He  sang  a  few  sad  tender  lyric  strains. 


[96] 


ON  BLAKE'S  "  SONGS  OF 
INNOCENCE  " 

IF  thou  hast  ever  heard  on  a  May  morn 
Within  a  leafy  wood  the  wild  birds  sing, 
And  felt  thy  soul  take  joy  in  marvelling 
How  in  such  little  creatures  could  be  born 
That  pure  melodious  concert  of  the  dawn  — 
Then  thou  dost  know  the  ecstasies  that  wing 
From  pulse  and  passion  when  a  dewy  thorn 
Is  breaking  from  a  rose-bud  blossoming. 

Such  joy  gave  he,  who  sang  the  innocence 

Of  childhood  —  Blake,  who  was  more  child  than 

man 

In  that  grave  wonder  of  his  reverence 
Unto  which  God  revealed  the  visional  plan 
Of  His  Eternal  Life :  —  the  evidence 
Smote  him  as  Moses'  rod  —  and  music  ran. 


[97] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LOVE 

I   HOLD  the  book  of  life  in  my  hands 
When  I  hold  your  face,  and  press  your  lips 
To  my  lips  in  a  kiss,  and  touch  all  lands 
In  a  thousand  dreams  that  sail  as  ships, 
Out  of  my  soul  across  your  soul 
To  the  ends  of  the  world  you  keep, 
Between  each  shadowy  golden  goal 
Of  your  eyes,  where  the  kingdoms  sleep. 

Shall  I  ever  read  the  history  through, 
And  learn  the  dates  of  wars  and  kings  — 
How  nations  fell  and  rose  and  grew? 
Ah,  life's  too  short  for  smaller  things 
When  your  face  is  mine  —  the  world  itself, 
Of  past  and  future  and  present  in  one; 
A  book  God  wrote  for  my  heart's  own  shelf, 
And  bound  in  the  bindery  of  the  sun. 


[98] 


TO  LAURENCE  HOPE 

ALL    the   world    of    deep    desire    loves    your 
song, 
Touched  of  joy  by  starlight  when  the  moon  hangs 

low; 

Filled  with  all  the  odors  that  arise  and  throng 
All  the  secret  memories  delight  can  know. 
Like    your  bulbuls  singing  when    the   dusk's    in 

bloom 

How  your  music  stirs  us  till  our  joys  make  pain  — 
Pain  the  flower  of  passion's  most  tender  doom, 
Sum  of  all  that  life  may  lose  and  death  may  gain. 
For  the  dreams  you  gave  to  music,  sure  and  strong, 
All  the  world  of  deep  desire  loves  your  song. 


[99] 


First    in    you    the    poetess,    throned     high    and 

crowned 

In  the  soul  of  us  who  mate  a  dream  to  rhyme; 
We  who  wander  strangely  in  the  lure  you've  wound 
Flowerful    'round    the    passions    you    have    made 

sublime. 

Was  there  ever  poetess  since  Sappho  sang 
Who  could  match  the  fever  of  your  pulsing  blood  ? 
Love  that  drew  from  the  harp  of  life  joy  and  pang, 
How  your  playing  rose  and  filled  our  hearts  to 

flood; 

We,  your  singing  brothers,  now  chaunted  and  found 
First  in  you  the  poetess,  throned  high  and  crowned. 


[100 


THIS  IS  MY  LIFE 

'T^O  feed  my  soul  with  beauty  till  I  die; 

1     To  give  my  hands  a  pleasant  task  to  do; 
To  keep  my  heart  forever  filled  anew 
With  dreams  and  wonders  which  the  days  supply; 
To  love  all  conscious  living,  and  thereby 
Respect  the  brute  who  renders  up  its  due, 
And    know   the   world    as    planned    is    good    and 

true  — 
And  thus  —  because  there  chanced  to  be  an  77 

This  is  my  life  since  things  are  as  they  are: 
One  half  akin  to  flowers  and  the  grass: 
The  rest  a  law  unto  the  changeless  star. 
And  I  believe  when  I  shall  come  to  pass 
Within  the  Door  His  hand  shall  hold  ajar 
I'll  leave  no  echoing  whisper  of  Alas! 


[101] 


KINGDOMS  AND  HEIRS 

UNDER  the  round  blue  sky, 
Over  the  wide  green  sea, 
Where  the  sun-robed  hours  fly, 
The  starred  silences  flee: 

Where  birth  comes  down  in  song, 
And  death  goes  up  in  tears  — 

Are  the  kingdoms  that  belong 
To  dreams'  uncrowned  heirs. 


[102] 


TO   ROY   ROLFE  GILSON 

YOU   asked    me  out   to  spend   the    day  with 
you: 

How  quick  it  passed  across  the  face  of  heaven  — 
And  yet  it  does  not  pass  from  out  our  hearts; 
But  in  the  valley  of  our  memories 
Stands  as  a  twilight  in  a  valley  stands 
Between  the  day  and  night  —  a  moveless  joy. 


[103] 


w 


WHITE  MAGIC:    AN  ODE 

Read  at  the  Centenary  Celebration  of  the  Birth  of 
John  Greenleaf  Whittier  at  Faneuil  Hall, 
Dec.  17,  1907 

HITE  magic  of  the  silences  of  snow! 

Over  the   Northern   fields   and   hills,  the 
moon 

Spreads  her  veil  o'er  the  wizardry  below; 
Amongst  the  ruined  tree-tops  is  a  croon 
Of  the  long  vanished  populace  of  Spring; 

There  is  a  glory  here 

Where  the  lone  farmhouse  windows,  glimmering 
Across  the  snow-fields,  warm  the  chilly  air. 
Peace  is  upon  the  valley  like  a  dream 

By  Merrimac's  swift  stream, 
Where  his  pure  presence  made  the  earth  so  fair. 


[104] 


Time  cannot  tarnish  the  glory  of  the  hills: 
Tides  cannot  wear  the  immaterial  winds 
To  outworn  voids  where  no  loud  echo  fills 
The  long  beach-comber  which  the  sea  unbinds; 
The  moon  shall  light  the  sun  ere  these  things  be; 

But  sooner  our  glad  hearts 
Know  not  darkness  from  sunlight  on  the  sea 
Ere  from  the  lips  of  Memory  departs 
Thought  or  speech  unpraiseful  of  Whittier's  life, 

White  magic  of  song  and  strife  — 
Strife  for  the  right  —  Song  for  a  sake  not  art's. 

In  the  rough  farmhouse  of  his  lowly  birth 
The  spirit  of  poetry  fired  his  youthful  years; 
No  palace  was  more  radiant  on  earth, 
Than   the    rude   home    where    simple    joys    and 

tears 
Filled  the  boy's  soul  with  the  human  chronicle 

Of  lives  that  touched  the  soil. 
He  heard  about  him  voices  —  and  he  fell 
To  dreams,  of  the  dim  past,  'midst  his  daily  toil; 
Romance  and  legend  claimed  his  Muses'  voice 

Till  the  heroic  choice 
Of  duty  led  him  to  the  battle's  broil. 

[105] 


Song  then  became  a  trumpet-blast;    he  smote 

The  arrogance  of  evil  in  the  State; 

The  indignation  of  his  music  wrote 

A  flaming  wrath  in  councils  of  debate. 

'Twas  passion  for  the  justice  of  God's  word  — 

Man's  common  heritage 
Fulfilled  in  the  high  name  of  Brotherhood. 
The  oracle  and  prophet  of  his  age, 
He  led  men  doubtful  between  wrong  and  right 

Through  Song  to  see  the  light, 
And  smite  the  evil  power  with  their  rage. 

He  helped  to  seal  the  doom.    His  hope  was  peace 
With  the  great  end  attained.     Beyond  his  will 
Fate  shaped  his  aims  to  awful  destinies 
Of  vengeful  justice;  —  now  valley  and  hill 
Groaned  with  the  roar  of  onset;   near  and  far 

The  terrible,  sad  cries 

Of  slaughtered  men  pierced  into  sun  and  star; 
Beyond  his  will  the  violence  —  but  the  prize 
Of  Freedom,  blood  had  purchased,  won  to  God 

His  praise  that  all  men  trod 
Erect,  and  clothed  in  Freedom,  'neath  the  skies. 


106] 


Let  thanks  be  ours  for  this  great  passion  in  him; 
And  praise  be  our  remembrance  of  his  trust; 
Blessings  that  no  compromise  could  win  him, 
Like  Ichabod,  to  soil  his  glory  in  the  dust. 
Let  ours  be,  too,  his  spirit  of  forgiving: 

We  can  but  master  fate 

By  the  sure  knowledge  of  our  brothers'  living  — 
Won  by  matching  his  virtues,  not  his  hate. 
Let  the  white  radiance  of  his  Inward  Light 

Be  to  us,  step  and  sight 
Up  the  steep  road  of  life  to  Heaven's  gate. 


[107] 


ON   REVISITING  NEWPORT  BEACH 

February  29,   1908 

ONCE  more  I  stand  upon  these  sands,  and  gaze 
Across  the  open  sea.    Five  winters'  suns 
Divide  that  other  presence  of  me  here, 
When  up  the  windy  crescent  of  this  beach 
I  walked  in  rapt  communion  of  farewell. 
I  leave  the  world  behind  me  now  —  forget 
My  late  and  feverish  intercourse  with  life 
And  its  mixed  motives  of  the  city  street : 
Circumstance  like  a  garment  I've  cast  off 
And  bring  my  naked  soul  for  your  apparel, 
O  sands  and  waves  and  unconfined  winds ! 
O  sands !   whose  separate  grains  vast  worlds  con 
dense; 
O  winds  !  whose  wings  do  beat  the  discs  of  suns ; 

0  mutable  and  everlasting  sea ! 

Thou  whose  being  wast  mother  of  time  and  man  — 

1  stand  before  you  naked  for  your  dreams 

To  clothe  my  soul  with  Hope  and  Strength  and 
Light. 


[108] 


OFF   SHORE 

LOOK  out  across  the  blue-green  sea, 
Look  thither  where  the  blue  glooms  lie 
Beyond  the  bourne  of  mystery, 

Between  the  sea-rim  and  the  sky. 
Oh  look  —  and  look  across  the  deep 

Sundering,  indivisible  flood  — 
Secretive  as  the  doom  of  sleep 

That  falls  on  man's  ancestral  blood: 

Look  out  and  gaze  from  vanished  eyes 

That  longed  for  home  from  Tyrian  ships; 
Look  out  from  ruined  destinies 

That  burn  behind  the  blood's  eclipse; 
Look  from  the  stare  when  Adam  saw 

God  spread  Creation  at  his  feet; 
As  Moses,  when  the  Stones  of  Law 

God  gave  him  where  the  whirlwinds  meet : 


[109] 


Look  out  across  the  blue-green  sea, 

Look  thither  where  the  blue  glooms  lie  — 
There  still  is  Canute's  mystery, 

And  mocking  Plato's  inner  eye. 
Oh  look  with  Shakespeare's  teeming  brain, 

And  look  with  Voltaire's  biting  scorn  — 
Behold  the  sudden  rush  of  rain  — 

The  miracle's  unborn ! 


[110] 


LORD  of  the  mystic  'star-blown  gleams 
Whose  sweet  compassion  lifts  my  dreams 
Lord  of  life  in  the  lips  of  the  rose 
That  kiss  desire',  whence  Beauty  grows; 
Lord  of  the  power  inviolate 
That  keeps  immune  thy  seas  from  fate; 
Lord  of  the  indestructible  dew 
Fresh,  as  the  night  the  first  rose  drew 
Its  moisture  to  her  heart  and  won 
Ease  from  the  first  day's  burning  sun; 
Lord  of  the  pomp  a  crown  endows 
And  peoples  hail  on  kingly  brows ; 
Lord  of  the  beggar  s  tattered  coat, 
A  derelict  on  life's  sea  a-float; 
Lord  of  thy  blinded  children,  they  — 
Who  see  no  sunlight  in  the  day, 
Nor  star-shine  in  the  night —  but  be 
Dreamless  toilers  on  land  and  sea; 
Lord,  Very  God  of  these  works  of  thine, 
Hear  me,  I  beseech  thee,  most  divine! 
Lord  I  praise  thee,  and  adore  thee 
For  thy  great  works  laid  before  me. 
My  prayer-book  is  thine  open  air 
Where  nature  prints  thy  Laws  so  clear; 

[  in  i 


My  altar  is  the  human  strife 
Where  I  take  sacraments  of  life; 
My  proof  in  immortality 
Speaks  loud  in  every  blossoming  tree. 
Lord,  Very  God,  now  lift  I  my  voice 
Thanking  thee  for  that  which  I  rejoice 
Thy  gift  of  life,  be  it  short  or  long, 
And  with  it  the  great  gift  of  song! 


OF  THE 

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FEB    18  1935 


DEC    5'KA-3PM 


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• 


LD  21-100m-8,'34 


